


Partners In Crime

by xanderwilde



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Action/Adventure, Attempt at Humor, Blackmail, Bruce Wayne trying to blend in, Drinking, Enemies to Friends, Feels, Friendship, Gen, Learning to Work Together, No Slash, No Smut, Partners in Crime, Roommates, Secret Identity, Sidekicks, Sort Of, Undercover, Undercover Missions, Whump, could be read as batjokes, just a good time with the bois, my favorite trope, or crime-solving, smuggling rings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-01-31 13:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18591925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanderwilde/pseuds/xanderwilde
Summary: Endlessly relieved that he had at least thought to rent an apartment with a bedroom in a separate room, Bruce climbed out of bed and shuffled to the door, running a hand through his hair. Was it possible to have a headache this early in the morning? He cracked open the door slowly, peering out.“What’s poppin’, Bruno?” a nasally voice sang out. Bruce cringed.Oh, it was very possible.When Bruce tries to take down a smuggling ring in Gotham, he ends up with an unlikely (and unwelcome) sidekick.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> i tried to channel the same energy of batman europa for this one we'll see where it goes

**Chapter One**

 

“I’ve got a new lead on the smugglers, Alfred.” Bruce Wayne spun around in his swivel chair, nearly overturning the steaming cup of black coffee held by the butler behind him. He steadied the cup and its contents before continuing, “The cops were given a tip-off about where their new headquarters will be, and according to the guy who told them, it’s supposed to be located in an old shipping warehouse by the east docks.” He turned back around to begin typing in coordinates into the computer, the screen lighting up with an array of different maps and lists of directions.

“A shipping warehouse? Isn’t that rather cliché, sir?” Alfred Pennyworth set down the tray, containing a full pot of coffee alongside the single cup, as well as a grilled cheese sandwich, and peered at the computer screen in front of him. Bruce took a gulp of the hot coffee, his eyes still fixed on the screen.

“Well, yes, but I don’t see why someone would give a false lead. It seems like a lot of work to send the cops down a dead end, especially when they haven’t been focusing on the smugglers recently. Why make it their focus unless you really want to give them away?”

“And what exactly is your plan, Master Bruce?” 

Bruce leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. “That’s the problem, Alfred. Word is that there’s more than fifty smugglers. I can’t take them all down by myself, even if I find HQ.”  
“My sentiments exactly.” Alfred said decidedly, nodding in satisfaction. “Let the GCPD take care of it, I say, and you can stay back and watch for once. You’ve done enough in these past three months for a lifetime.”

“Oh, I’ll take them down.” Bruce interrupted around a mouthful of sandwich, and Alfred sighed. 

“You shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.”

“I just can’t do it as him.” The billionaire nodded to the costume slung over a nearby chair, the pointy-eared cowl and cape dangling limply like a collapsed circus tent. “I need another way.”

“Well, fortunately there isn’t one that could conceivably end in a success.” Alfred replied, relieved. He picked up the now-empty tray and turned away, mumbling, “Only other way would be to infiltrate the gang itself, and lord knows you can’t blend in to save your life.”

Bruce sat up straight, smacking his hand excitedly against the console and making the butler jump in surprise. “Alfred! That’s perfect. I don’t have to attack them to know what they’re planning, I have to become a part of them!” He jumped to his feet, barreling past the butler and the row of computer screens to the back of the cave. Alfred watched him leave, shaking his head forlornly. 

“Why can’t you keep your bloody mouth shut for once, you old fool?” he chastised himself before following Bruce.

He found the younger man to where he stood in front of a file cabinet, rooting through countless folders that stuffed each drawer to the brim. “And what exactly are you doing now?”

“Alfred, you’ve given me a better idea than I could ever think up. I don’t know why I didn’t realize it before. I can gather intel on the smugglers with this, and even send tips to the GCPD without them knowing it was me.”

Alfred peered over Bruce’s shoulder, looking at the file he held open in his hands. “Patrick Malone? Someone you know, Master Bruce?”

“No, not quite.” Bruce flipped past the first page, which contained a list of information: name, date of birth, address, family history, to reveal a picture paper clipped to the back. He felt Alfred start in surprise.

“What on earth…”

“I collected a list of people who’ve lived in Gotham City in the past thirty years who bear a close enough physical resemblance to me that I could pass as them. In case I ever needed to take on another identity. They’re either dead now or moved to a different city,” He pulled out a stack of other files and passed them over his shoulder to the butler, who leafed through the pictures of five other Bruce lookalikes, “because obviously, I couldn’t adopt the identity of someone who still lives here. But this might be the perfect cover the infiltrate the gang.”

Alfred’s eyebrows drew together in concern. “You want to pretend to be one of these men? Forgive me for saying so, Master Bruce, but you’re not exactly an expert in this business. Allow me to give you a bit of advice.”

“Alfred, I know it’s risky, but it’s the perfect cover. This way, I can get all the information I need, divide and conquer, and then Batman can come clean up the rest.” 

“You’ve never been a spy before, sir. I think it’s fitting that I could inform you of the dangers of the trade. Perhaps you recall my involvement in British intelligence before I came to work with your father?”

“Yes, so you can help instead of trying to discourage me from doing this.” Bruce took the folders back and shoved them into the proper sections of the open drawer. He still held the first one he’d taken out, and was searching through the pages. “This is the one I think I need to take. Patrick Malone, former small-time robber and petty thief. Enough skill to be useful, but under the radar enough that they won’t recognize his name. And hopefully they won’t realize he’s been dead for the past four years.”

“What exactly is your plan here, Master Bruce?” Alfred asked gravely. “Take on this identity, join the smugglers themselves, then take them down?

“Exactly.” Bruce nodded, shutting the folder with a snap and rushing past Alfred back to the computer. He sat down and began typing furiously. “I’ll have the police take down some of them one by one until the herd is thin enough for me to stop on my own, then I’ll show them the price they pay for crime in Gotham.”

“And where, if you don’t mind my asking, will Bruce Wayne be at this time?”

“Switzerland.” Bruce mumbled between the pencil he now held between his teeth. He was sketching up a quick side view of the unfortunate Patrick Malone with another pencil, taking hints from the computer rendering on the screen in front of him. “Maybe he’ll elope with a reporter or something. Nothing too surprising, and nothing I can’t come back from in a few months time. Just enough so I can disappear off the radar and I won’t have any conflicts as Patrick here.” He patted the file that sat beside him. “Did you ever work as a barber, Alfred?”  
The butler, suffering mental whiplash from his employer’s countless suggestions, plans, and ideas that were pouring out of his mouth in a jumbled mess, blinked in surprise. “A barber, sir?” he echoed incredulously. Bruce nodded.

“I’ve got to change a few of my looks, nothing too crazy, just get a haircut, maybe a flattop or something, and grow out a five o’clock shadow. That can’t be too difficult, can it?”

  
“I suppose you’ll have to find out when five o’clock comes around.”

“No, I meant the haircut. I don’t want to raise suspicion if I get it done out of the house. Also, Patrick lived in Midtown, at an old apartment building that’s alongside the Narrows turf, so I’ve got to go rent it out. Hopefully the landlady doesn't know about Patrick's death.” He went back to typing. Alfred sighed.

“Sir, don’t get me wrong, but are you sure you can do this on your own? It seems like quite a bit of trouble to go through. Maybe we can let this incident with the smugglers pass by for once, what do you say? Surely the police can do a day’s work every now and then.”

“Alfred, Gotham’s crime rates are off the charts. They clearly need some help, and I promised myself that’s what I’d do.” He flashed the butler a smile. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I’m not a kid anymore, no matter what you’d like to believe.”

“No, but you’re still only a man.” Alfred shook his head. Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“As opposed to…?”

“What I mean,” the butler picked up the tray with the empty coffee mug and sandwich crumbs strewn across it, “is that you’re only human. Don’t overestimate your abilities, especially when you don’t have the cowl to hide behind. People are afraid of Batman, they see him as some sort of urban legend instead of a person. You’re not going to get that same respect as Patrick Malone.”

“Matches.” Bruce interrupted. Alfred glanced at him.

“What, sir?”

“Matches Malone. It’s his nickname.” Bruce pointed to a case file he’d opened on the computer screen, with the uncannily near-identical former criminal looking up from a mugshot. “If I’m going to play the part, I need to get every detail exactly right.” He stood back up, gathering the papers into a stack. “Don’t worry about me, Alfred. If I can spend my waking hours pretending to be a playboy who actually enjoys the high life, then this’ll be a breeze.”

“I hope to the heavens it is, sir.” Alfred muttered, turning away and starting up the stairs that led out of the cave and into the manor above.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

 

Bruce looked around at the decrepit one-bedroom apartment with a wry expression. _Goodbye, Bruce Wayne. Hello, ordinary citizen. No wonder this city’s falling apart. We can’t even bother to repair the broken blinds._ He touched said blinds gingerly, and a cloud of dust rose up to greet him. The ceiling and floor both sported dark water stains, the door was scuffed from being kicked open one too many times, and there was a hairline crack running across the grimy window pane. 

He set down the few bags of belongings he’d brought with him (mainly clothes that didn’t consist of the usual tuxedos and three-piece suits he wore whenever he had to leave the house, and that _was_ one thing he was looking forward to with this job. At least he’d be comfortable) went into the kitchen. The cupboards had a few sparse cans of food and the occasional water bottle, which Bruce had bought ahead of time the week before. Having never even set foot in a grocery story before then, he had felt rather helpless staring at the endless rows of food and wondering how Alfred managed to stay sane.

Bruce wasn’t usually a drinking man, but his role required more than staying holed up in a dark apartment that looked precariously close to falling apart, so after he arranged the contents of his few overnight bags, he found himself at one of the sleazier bars that sat right within the Narrows boundaries. This was the sort of place that attracted all kinds of lowlife that lived in Gotham City, and as distasteful as Bruce found this job, it was what he had to mingle with if he wanted to go for authenticity.

Not wanting to actually get drunk (the terrible image of him losing it and running around the bar yelling “I’m Bruce Wayne!” was enough to never have a stomach for alcohol again) Bruce opted for a seltzer water, finding a quiet corner in the bar where he could observe for a reasonable amount of time. Just enough to get the attention of any of the smugglers looking for recruits. Then he could go home and wait for tomorrow to do any real work. The patrons of the bar moved around dazedly, some of the more raucous ones knocking over chairs with their clumsy motions. Bruce sighed. Alfred was right about one thing…he wasn’t experienced in this. Not that he wanted to be, of course.

“You up for a game?” A nasally voice spoke right in his ear, and Bruce’s head whipped around to see who it was. The man standing behind him, shuffling a tattered deck of cards, was a sight to behold. He was tall, almost as tall as Bruce, and so thin that it would only take a stiff breeze to blow him over…or just any breeze, really. His hair was dyed bright green, and stuck out in wild spikes above his pointed, pale features. Bruce was almost certain his eyebrows were green too. He was sporting a cut-off orange t-shirt under a ragged purple jacket (Bruce noticed holes worn in the elbows) and pinstripe pants, of all things. He looked like he’d gone into a costume shop and carefully selected articles of clothing that were as far away from matching as possible. He was smiling at Bruce, his green eyes twinkling with a sort of devilish glee, and it didn’t take a mind reader to see he had some trick up his sleeve and couldn't wait to show it. Bruce raised one eyebrow.

“Can I help you?”

“I thought you might like to play a game.” The man flopped down on the chair opposite Bruce, kicking his feet up onto the scuffed, low table that sat between them. He began shuffling the cards again, making a show of it all. “You, me, and whoever wins is buying drinks.” He nodded to the wall of displayed alcohol eagerly.

“I’m not in the mood.” What Bruce really wanted was for this stranger to stop talking to him. He was on a mission, for goodness sakes, not trying to pick up stray weirdos who wanted to play cards. The newcomer didn’t miss a beat.

He flipped his hair out of his eyes. “Just a quick round.” He began dealing the cards with more energy Bruce had seen in a long time, and certainly more than he had ever felt. Who knew card dealing could be so exhausting to watch? 

“I said I’m not in the mood.” 

“C’mon, it’s not gonna kill you.” He shoved the pile of cards toward Bruce with a bright smile, looking like a little kid cajoling their parents into getting ice cream. He looked entirely innocent, and, while Bruce wanted to make a biting remark about how children weren’t allowed in bars, he opted for a more neutral,

“Look, I’m a little busy right now, waiting for someone.” Not exactly true, but if it would get this guy to leave, then he would use whatever it took. Looking inconspicuous wasn’t exactly easy with the walking birthday cake opposite him. Before he could remember he wasn’t supposed to be a billionaire, he pulled out his wallet and tossed a few twenties at the man. “Here, just take it and buy your own drink.”

The money was caught deftly and slipped quickly into some hidden pocket, and Bruce looked up to see the man staring at him with eyes even wider than before ( _keep that up and you’ll bust a blood vessel,_ Bruce thought drily.) His eager grin grew wider, and he swept up the cards in a single gesture, tying them together with a rubber band and stashing them away in his jacket pocket. “Well, _you_ were quite the jackpot.” he commented before spinning theatrically around on his heel (nearly avoiding a collision with another patron) and bounding off toward the nearest bartender. Bruce watched him disappear, then sighed and turned back to observe the room, telling himself thatthis was worth it, and it wouldn’t take long before things started to pick up in excitement.

 

\+ + + + + + +

 

He was walking back home two hours later, after an uneventful evening of watching people, taking down mental notes, and trying to establish a not-quite-on-the-level persona for himself, when someone ran into him so hard that he almost fell over. Steadying himself against the alleyway wall, Bruce looked up with a glare that quickly turned to surprise, and back to a glare a millisecond later.

“You again?” he asked sharply, trying to sidestep the colorful figure who had snuck forty dollars away from him out of sheet irritation back at the bar. “What do you want now?”

The stranger was obviously very drunk, swaying on his feet as his bloodshot green eyes tried to focus on Bruce’s face. He gave a high-pitched giggle, straightening his jacket that hung off his thin shoulders, before keeling over right into Bruce. The billionaire pushed him away with a frown. “Look, you need to get lost. I’m not…”

“Just wanted to say…” The man’s voice, which already had a strange, almost lilting, cadence, was evidence enough that he had enough alcohol in his system for at least five men twice his size. His words slurred together before he righted himself and tried again, blinking rapidly as he balanced himself against Bruce, who was wishing he was somewhere else.

“Just wanted…to say…thanks for the, uh…” He gestured aimlessly, searching for the word that escaped him, before snapping his fingers in inspiration. Or at least trying to snap his fingers. “Thanks for the drinks.” He giggled hysterically, tears of mirth springing to his glazed eyes as he tried to lean against the wall and instead toppled over into a puddle of tangled limbs on the ground, where he remained, staring up at Bruce, who shook his head.

“Don’t mention it.” _I only paid you so you’d stop bothering me, but apparently that didn’t work._ He tried to sidestep the green-haired man gingerly, formulating an excuse. “I’ve got to get home now. Work, you know.”

To his horror, the man somehow managed to gather himself up from the ground and trail after him, slinging an arm over his neck. Bruce pushed him away as nicely as he could, his irritation growing every minute. “Okay, you’ve had your fun. Now leave me alone.”

The man stumbled back, almost knocking against the nearest street lamp, before course-correcting and busying himself with fixing his jacket. “Where d’ya live?”

Bruce stared. “What are you, a spy? Quit it.”

“Ohhh yeah, I’m a _spy.”_ He pretended to look through a magnifying glass before dissolving into laughter again. Bruce quickened his pace, hoping the severely drunken stranger would lose him if he walked faster. “And I wanna know what a rich guy like _you_ is doin’ in the Narrows.”

Bruce froze for a split second, resisting the urge to spin around, grab the guy in a choke-hold, and demand what he knew about him. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder nonchalantly, forcing a laugh that sounded much too fake for comfort. “What are you talking about?”

The man raised one eyebrow. “Really? You’re gonna play pretend? C’mon, who else dishes out forty bucks to a guy who wants a game of cards and a drink? You’re not foolin’ anyone.” He broke off, humming something that was probably supposed to be a song, but at the moment was something only he could hear or pick out a melody to. Bruce stared, mentally berating himself for such a clumsy move.

“I just…” Bruce cleared his throat, trying to make his voice gruffer than usual. “I had some extra cash on me. From a job I took.”

The man snorted with laughter, hanging on to the lamppost and swinging around it in what he probably thought was a graceful move. “Right, and I’m the queen of England.” He paused, looking Bruce in the eyes with intense seriousness. “I’m actually not. The queen, I mean.” A grin split his face. “Soooo…you’re lying. That means you’re lookin’ for something. And I can bet you don’t want anyone to know about it.”

Bruce gritted his teeth, hoping the guy was drunk enough to forget this entire conversation when he woke up the next morning. “You need to leave. I’m busy, and I could have you arrested for harassment.”

“Bingo!” The man pointed at him accusingly. “There ya go again.” He tripped over his own feet and Bruce caught him before he fell flat on his face. _Why’d you do that? Should’ve just let him fall, maybe he’d have left you alone then._ “Thanks, darling. Anyway, as I was saying…”

“I’m not sure exactly what you’re trying to do, but I’m busy.” Bruce slowed his pace now, not wanting the stranger to know where he lived. It was a safe bet that, if he learned _that_ piece of information, Bruce would wake up to a green-haired clown sitting outside his apartment in the morning. And that was definitely not something he would enjoy seeing. “So if I could ask you to leave me alone…”

“Y’see, here’s the _thing.”_ the man interrupted, slinging a skinny arm over Bruce’s shoulder, who shrugged it off irately. “You talk about having me arrested, and I’m no mind reader, but what sort of criminal would call the police on someone that annoys them? You ain’t a criminal, and you ain’t lookin’ for money. You’re as rich as they come. I can practically smell the upper crust on ya.” Bruce shoved him away before he could try, but the man kept up, his wavering voice annoyingly persistent. “So you’re here for somethin’ more than it looks like.”

Bruce was shocked at how accurately the stranger had read him, and he began to worry if everyone was going to see past his facade, or if the man was just uncannily perceptive. He stopped walking, turning around on the sidewalk to face his companion. “What do you want from me?”

The man grinned, his green hair falling over his eyes. “I wanna help you.”

Bruce couldn’t suppress a snort at the ridiculous request. As if anyone would ever consider the drunken lunatic who could barely stay on his feet an actual asset…the guy really was insane. “I think I’ll pass.”

“Well, I’d hate to pull out the blackmail card, but…” The man’s words trailed off and Bruce wheeled around, a scowl on his face. 

“You’re going to blackmail me? Really? I bet you can’t even see straight right now. You’re going to wake up in the morning with a massive hangover and absolutely no memory of any of this, I can bet you that. Now go. Get out of here.” He began walking faster, not caring if the guy saw where he lived or not. He just wanted to get away from this conversation before every aspect of his personal life was exposed by this madman. 

“I wouldn’t count on it, Bruce.”

He felt his entire body freeze and his mind go blank, and for a moment he couldn’t even form a thought or a single word. The first to come to his mind was, _How?_

_How on earth?_

He turned around slowly, reluctantly, to face the man, who was grinning with a very self-congratulating expression. “What do you know?” he asked cautiously, watching the other lean against a lamppost, lose his balance, and fall to the ground. “Tell me what you know.”

“I don’t know anythin’.” the man assured him with a wave of his hand. “But I can spot a rich boy a mile away, and if I see an opp…an opportunity,” he stumbled over the word, trying several increasingly inaccurate pronunciations before giving up, “then you can bet your teeth I’ll go for it.”

“What do you mean, opportunity?” Bruce crossed his arms, glancing around with growing suspicion. If this guy knew who he was, then everyone else must, too. 

“I mentioned blackmail, right? I mean, I think I did. Maybe. Ah, who cares. Anyway, that’s exactly what I’m plannin’ on doing. You,” he pointed a shaky finger at Bruce, closing one eye to steady his vision, “you’re gonna give me what I want, and I’m gonna show you how to get what _you_ want.”

_Not exactly blackmail._ Bruce mused, but that wasn’t something he was going to bring up. “Okay. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I’m currently in the market for a place to stay,” the green-haired man began, and Bruce shook his head firmly.

“No. Definitely not. I’m trying to keep a low profile around here, and a roommate that looks like someone’s trippy circus-themed acid dream is not going to help that. Besides, I don’t even know you. I’m not renting out my apartment to a stranger.”

“C’mon, Bruce, you’ve gotta admit, I’m a pretty helpful guy to have around.” From his place on the ground, the man spread his arms out wide and grinned again. Bruce pressed a hand to the side of his face, trying to hold an impending headache at bay.

“You said you’re going to help me. In exchange for a place to stay? Is that it?”

“And if ya can spare a few more of those twenties every now an’ again, that wouldn’t go…uh…” he narrowed his eyes, searching for the word.

“Unappreciated?”

“Yeah, that one. I ain’t asking for much from a billionaire, you’ve gotta admit.”

He wasn’t, but that didn’t make the prospect any more appealing. Bruce sighed. “And what are you offering?”

“Information.” The man tapped the side of his head conspiratorially. “And I can show you how to blend in with the crowd.”

“Oh, please.” Bruce scoffed. “You couldn’t be overlooked by a blind man.”

“Aw, _Bruce,_ I’m flattered.”

“That wasn’t a—"

“Shh, I’m talkin’. I’ve lived here all my life, Bruce, an’ I can get people what they want. If you want some dirt on the gangs ‘round here, then I can get that for you. Trust me.”

“I don't even know you.”

He sprang up for the ground with surprising speed for a drunk man and extended a thin hand. “Name’s Joker.”

Bruce shook his hand briefly out of habit before pulling away. “What?”

“You heard me, playboy.”

“What’s your real name?”

“It _is_ my real name. Only one that matters, anyway.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “Now that we’re all cozy, whaddya say to my offer? Oh, I almost forgot, the blackmail part.” He slapped his forehead with an open palm. “If you don’t go along with it, I’ll make sure you’ll never get the information you want. And I’ll tell everyone who you are. Bruce Wayne, richest guy on the block.”

“Let me get this straight.” Bruce tried to work it all out. “You’re offering to help me, but only if I return the favor, and if I don’t, then you’ll work against me?”

“Yes! Perfect! Exactly right, babe!” Joker danced around Bruce delightedly, his eyes glittering. “You’re not as dumb as you look!”

“Hang on, can you just…” Bruce waited for the colorful figure to stand still. “Just wait a second. I have to think this through.”

“What’s to think through? It’s a yes or a no. One gajillion percent up to you.” He tried to show the numbers with his fingers before realizing it was impossible. “So, ya gonna go along with it, or no?”

Bruce let out a long sigh, shaking his head in despair. The smugglers were causing too many problems in Gotham for him to give up on this case so early…he had plans, and intended on following through with them. The city was depending on him to do his duty, and he wasn’t about to let some green-haired vagrant stand in the way of that. “Okay. Fine. If that’s what I have to do for you to leave me alone, then fine. But listen to me,” his face turned even more serious, and his tone held a warning note, “if you get in my way, or interfere with my work, I cannot promise you will be safe. Do you understand that? So I will not take any responsibility for you, and I strongly advise you to mind your own business.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Joker saluted crookedly, then linked his arm through Bruce’s, who jerked away. 

“Stop it.”

“Aw, c’mon, if we’re gonna be friends, Brucie, then—"

“Nope, none of that, either.” Bruce cut him off. “No nicknames, no friends. I’m _working,_ and the only reason you’re getting what you want is because I don’t have time to deal with you. Do you understand me?”

“Ugh, _fine._ If you’re gonna be like that, then fine.” He staggered alongside Bruce, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands. “I can tell you’re gonna be a _blast,_ oh yeah. ’s okay, though, long as you give me what I want.”

“We’ll see.” Bruce kept his eyes stoically forward, trying to ignore the flailing figure beside him. 

“Oh boy, this is gonna be _great.”_ Joker continued, unabashed. “Me, workin’ with the biggest billionaire in Gotham City. It’s really an honor, Bruce.” He skipped down the sidewalk with seemingly endless energy. “You, me, we’re gonna be the best team this side of Argentina. A real dynamic duo. And everyone…”

“No, we are not a team.” Bruce told him sternly. “And you are going to stay out of my way. And that is final.”

Joker fell behind as Bruce continued walking, staring drunkenly at the back of the billionaire’s head. “We’ll see.” he said in what he thought was a whisper. 

Bruce shook his head and kept walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> r&r i'd love to hear your thoughts :)


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

 

When Bruce woke up the next morning, he had about three seconds of blissful forgetfulness before he remembered what had happened the night before. He stared out the window with half-open eyes, wondering what his course of action would be for the day, then his expression sank into a frown and he sat up. 

_Oh, no._

Endlessly relieved that he had at least thought to rent an apartment with a bedroom in a separate room, Bruce climbed out of bed and shuffled to the door, running a hand through his hair. Was it possible to have a headache this early in the morning? He cracked open the door slowly, peering out.

“What’s poppin’, Bruno?” a nasally voice sang out. Bruce cringed.

Oh, it was _very_ possible.

The green-haired man was standing in the kitchen, helping himself to a generous bowl of cereal. He gave an enthusiastic wave to the billionaire, who was contemplating going back to bed forever. 

_How does he not have the worst hangover in the world?_

“I know you were unbelievably drunk last night and probably don’t remember anything, but I made it very clear that nicknames are off the table.” 

“Whoops, must’ve slipped my mind.” He started digging through the various drawers like a scavenger animal. “Got any spoons, by the way?”

Bruce pointed wordlessly to the utensil drawer, skirting around the man to get to the coffee pot on the counter by the sink. Grabbing a mug from the cabinet, he poured himself a cup of scalding hot coffee, gulping down half of it without waiting for it to cool. “This is the last time you get to take my food without asking me.”

“What am I supposed to eat then?”

Bruce sat down at the kitchen table, turning on the television in the corner and flipping through the limited channels. “That’s not my problem. Food was not part of our deal.”

“You’re no fun, Bruce.” He dragged his feet on the ground as he made his way over to the couch, where he had spend the night under the single blanket Bruce had begrudgingly tossed from the bedroom after fifteen minutes of complaints from the green-haired intruder. 

“Sorry to disappoint.” Bruce said, his tone anything but apologetic. _Maybe that’ll shut him up for a minute._

“Would you like to hear what I was thinking?”

_No such luck._

“Nope.” he replied, turning up the volume on the news report that was on the TV. 

There was a pause. “I’m gonna tell you anyway.”

Bruce stood up, rounding the corner into the kitchen and putting the empty coffee cup in the sink. “No, you’re going to shut up and leave me alone or I’ll staple your mouth shut.”

“Kinky.”

“One more word…” Bruce warned.

“Hey, relax. I do have a question, though.” Draping himself over the end of the couch, Joker propped his chin up in his hands and looked over at Bruce. “What’s all this for? I mean, come on, you’re Bruce Wayne. Why are you interested in going into hiding in the Narrows? You doing like some sort of Undercover Boss stunt or somethin’?”

“That,” Bruce said firmly, preparing to escape into the bedroom, “is none of your business.” 

“Do you live a double life?” Joker persisted, and Bruce ignored him, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him. That guess was a little too close for comfort. 

_Why does this have to happen to me?_

Bruce glanced at himself in the mirror appraisingly, running a hand through the flattop Alfred had given him and wondering if he looked too much like himself to go unnoticed. But no, he couldn’t go second-guessing himself because some green-haired creep had figured out his identity. After all, _that_ had come about because of Bruce’s carelessness with the money he’d given away. That was on him.

_Just ignore him. You have a plan, stick with it._

The two seconds of peace he had were shattered by a knocking on the door. “What?” Bruce snapped, yanking it open so hard that Joker, who had been leaning against it, stumbled into the room and very narrowly escaped falling on his face.

“Oh, hey. If you’re going out for the day, you mind slipping me a few of those lovely little green bills?” He drummed his fingers on the doorframe. “You promised, y’know.”

“Maybe if you could give me just one single minute to myself I’d have time for that.” Bruce slammed the door in his face and opened the closet door, rifling through the dark colors of the shirts he’d bought for himself under Alfred’s advisory…”Stay as inconspicuous as possible, Master Bruce”…and wondering if it would be easier to escape via the bedroom window rather than opening the door and braving the waiting green-haired menace outside. 

“Bruce, guess what?” a muffled voice hollered through the door. Bruce considered the mouth-stapling option again. “You don’t have to give me the money yourself, I already found your wallet.”

“That’s _it.”_ Storming out the door, Bruce grabbed the man’s thin wrist and wrenched the wallet away. “Deal or not, this is over. I’ll find a way to work around your little blackmail scheme. Just get out.”

“Ow.” Joker pouted, rubbing his wrist and shooting a pained glance at Bruce. “Well, if that’s how it has to be.” Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he trudged toward the front door. “You’re missing out on an opportunity though, let me tell you.”

“I really don’t think so.” Bruce said drily. “Close the door on your way out.”

“Sure, I will.” Airily lifting a piece of paper from his pocket, Joker dangled it in the air. “Guess I’ll take this with me, too.”

Recognizing the paper as a piece of his own stationary, Bruce froze, his eyes narrowing. “What is that?”

“Really, my sweet little schnitzel, you need to learn to put your stuff away. You left your whole notebook out last night, and I happened to see it sitting there.”

_Stupid._ Bruce gritted his teeth. His notebook, the one where he’d written down the names of the smugglers, the dock and warehouse numbers…everything. 

And he’d left it on the kitchen table, right in the path of the unwelcome guest.

“You know me, I can’t help being nosy.” Joker giggled, his laugher high-pitched and grating. “And boy, there were enough juicy little tidbits in that thing to think it was all just a crazy dream. I’d know, I’ve had ‘em before.” He crumpled up the paper and put it back into his pocket, leaning against the door. “So, the big bad Bruce Wayne. Going to take down some _smugglers._ I guess now I know what rich folks do in their spare time.”

“Give me those papers, Joker.”

“Hmm, let me think about that.” He tapped his chin. “Nah. Don’t want to.”

“Don’t make me take them from you.”

“Ooh, Bruce, getting feisty now?” He grinned. “But really, care to explain why you’re planning on taking apart a smuggling ring? Why do you care, you’re the king of Gotham! You’ve never cared about crime before.”

Bruce, who had been wishing very deeply that he had stuck to being Batman for his task, rolled his eyes. “Look, Joker, this has nothing to do with you. And if you don’t want to get caught in the crossfire, I’d suggest dropping the matter.”

“No thanks, this is too exciting to pass up. So, regale me with your story.” Lounging against the door, Joker crossed his ankles and stared expectantly at Bruce. “Why are you suddenly sneaking away from rich boy land to fight smugglers? I don’t know if people like you watch the news, but we’ve already got a guy who fights crime ‘round here. Maybe you’ve heard of him?”

“Are you talking about Batman?” Bruce asked, trying to sound nonchalant about it. Joker nodded vigorously.

“Well, I ain’t talkin’ about that circus performer in spandex that flies around Metropolis.”

“This is something I need to take care of myself.” Bruce replied, a semblance of an explanation beginning to form. Joker’s eyebrows shot up.

“Hark, do I hear someone who doesn’t believe Batman can protect Gotham?” He threw a hand dramatically to his forehead. “Brucie, I can’t believe you actually live in this city.” 

“Technically my house is outside the city limits.”

“I’m the biggest Batman fan there is.” Joker continued as if he hadn’t heard. Bruce internally groaned. _Just what I need._ “He’s got my vote, if he ever wants to run for mayor or something.” Rolling up the ragged sleeve of his orange shirt, Joker showed Bruce a clumsily done tattoo of the Bat symbol on his thin bicep. Bruce tried not to grimace. _Why does this weirdo have to be the number one fan for Batman too? The universe must really hate me or something._

“Why are you on Batman’s side?” he asked before thinking. “You’re a criminal, too.”

Joker waved the comment off. “Oh, please. He’s got better things to do then arrest little old _moi._ Seriously, Bruce, the worst I’ve ever done is blackmail a billionaire for room and board and maybe snatch a couple bucks here and there.”

Bruce wasn’t sure if he really believed that, but he wasn’t going to argue the point. He also wasn’t going to turn Joker in, even as Batman, because odds were that the man would figure out who he was and try to blackmail him about _that_ too. Right now Bruce just wanted to be finished with the conversation.

“I didn’t say I don’t trust Batman to do the work he’s known for.” he tried to explain, choosing his words cautiously. “But this matter with the smugglers involves my business, and the only way to make sure it’s done properly is to do it myself.” There, that was a decent explanation. And partly true, too. Wayne Enterprises _had_ suffered losses on occasion from these same smugglers.

Joker nodded, accepting every word. “What a noble creature you are. You almost convinced me to be an honest man. Sadly for you,” he stepped backward out the door and into the hall, waving the piece of paper he’d kept in his pocket, “I’m not completely convinced.”

“Wait.” Bruce tried to sound reasonable, even if he really felt like strangling the man. “Just…get back inside and close the door. I don’t want you shouting that information to everyone in this building.” Joker complied, bounding back over to the couch and sitting down, cross-legged. “Okay.” Bruce breathed deeply, wanting to punch something. “You can stay, but please keep out of my business. It should be enough that I’m giving you a free apartment to stay in, you should be able to show me at least the common courtesy of not bothering me. Okay?”

Joker nodded, passing him the paper. “You know I could help you with this, though.” 

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not asking for help.”

“I _could,_ you know.”

“Are you trying to tell me you have information that will help?” 

Joker shrugged. “I may have peeked at the names on your list, and I may know one or two of the guys. If you’re trying to make friends…”

“You’re saying you’ll vouch for me to the smugglers?” Bruce asked, crossing his arms. Joker nodded.

“Bingo, you hit it on the nose! Give the man a prize, he’s got a brain after all.” 

Bruce held up his hands, trying to redirect the conversation. “Why are you offering to help?”

“Well, I’ve got nothing better to do, and hey, I’m always down to topple a corporation or two. I’d never miss a chance for that sort of fun.” He grinned.

Bruce considered the offer. On one hand, he would be forced into actually relying on this lunatic sitting on his couch in possibly the brightest outfit he’d ever seen, finishing off a bowl of cereal. The sight alone was enough to make him turn tail and run from the very idea. On the other hand, it would certainly make this situation a whole lot easier. 

_Do what you need to do._

_This is no different than being Batman. You have to make sacrifices. Just…this sacrifice is a bit more annoying._

_But you’re not doing it for yourself, Bruce._

He sighed, reluctantly surveying the figure on the couch. Something told him the headache he’d woken up to wasn’t going away anytime soon.

“I’ll give you one chance.”

Joker shot up from his seat, cereal bowl flying. “Oh, Brucie, you doll! I knew you’d say yes! Boy oh boy, we’re gonna have the time of our lives working together, you’ll see. We’re gonna be a great team, I know it.”

Bruce closed his eyes, wishing he could shut out the irritating voice. What had he just agreed to? Was he really the sane one here?

_The time of our lives._

_Yeah, right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please r&r! comments and criticisms are appreciated! :)


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter 4**

 

“Yo, Bruce, I have a question.” Joker fell in step with Bruce as they left the apartment, turning into an alleyway that led toward the docks. The sun had gone down, and the street lamps were beginning to light up. Bruce, who was trying to be as inconspicuous as possible (which wasn’t an easy task with the man beside him who seemed intent on wearing every possible color at once), looked up sharply.

“Remember what I told you? You’re not supposed to call me Bruce."  
“Oh, yeah. _Matches.”_ Joker grinned conspiratorially, digging into his pockets and pulling out a cigarette Bruce was fairly sure had been half-smoked already. “Reminds me, you got a light?”

“No, I don’t smoke.”

“It’s a disgusting habit.” Joker agreed while sticking the cigarette in his mouth and diving back into his pockets until he found a lighter. “So, Matchy, what’s the plan?”

Bruce sighed. “Were you not listening to anything I was telling you back at the apartment?”

“Not really. I was actually thinking about this guy whose watch I stole a long time ago. I lost it in a fight, which was a pity. It was a nice watch.”

“Well, you should have been listening to me. I explained this already. You’re going to introduce me to the guys you know who are familiar with the smugglers, and I’m going to try and get a job down at the docks so I can observe the patterns of their activity. That’s it, there’s nothing else to remember. I’m sure if you try hard enough you can get that to stay in your brain.”

“I’ll try, Matchstick.” Joker tapped the side of his head confidently and licked the edge of the cigarette that danged from his mouth. “Believe me, when I want to, I’ve got a mind like a steel trap.”

“I highly doubt you even know what a steel trap is.” Bruce muttered, quickening his pace so Joker had to hurry to keep up. 

“I’d better prepare you.” the green-haired man piped up after almost a full minute of much-welcomed silence on Bruce’s part. “Since you’re a billionaire and all and you probably haven’t exactly hung out with guys like these before.”

Bruce really, really wanted to mention condescendingly that he did in fact know everything he needed to know, but he resisted. Only because he was paranoid about Joker deciphering the most secret aspect of his life and bolting away, shouting _Bruce Wayne is Batman_ at the top of his lungs just for the heck of it. For a man who looked like he never operated with more than one functioning brain cell at a time, he was surprisingly intuitive, and even the littlest slip-up on Bruce’s part could be disastrous. So he drew his mouth into a thin, long-suffering line, and prepared to endure Joker’s spiel of advice.

"These guys, they don’t take any funny business. Believe _me,_ I’ve learned that the hard way.” He giggled, shaking his head. “You gotta stay quiet and listen to what they tell you, and don’t question what they do. You know? Like, stay under the radar. I’ll show you how, I’m really good at sneaking around if I need to.”

“Uh huh.”

“I really am.” Joker assured him. “Trust me, if you follow my advice, we’ll have those smugglers busted in no time!” He paused, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head to look at Bruce. “Did I ever ask _what_ they’re smuggling?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Oh. What are they smuggling?”  
Bruce shoved his hands into his pockets. “Several different shipments of materials. Black market weapons. Apparently a batch of illegal chemicals. I haven’t heard all the specifics, which is why I’m doing this.” 

“Spicy.” Joker bounded alongside him like a puppy going on a walk. “So, once you get a job, you’ll what? Spy on them?”  
“Ideally.”

“Wow, that’s cool.” He didn’t sound mocking, like Bruce had expected, but genuinely impressed. Bruce knew not to take it at face value…Joker looked harmless enough (harmless for a hobo clown, that is), but he was devious enough to keep a few tricks up his sleeve. And Bruce wasn’t here to make friends. “Maybe I’ll pop by the docks every now and again to see how the spying is going.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Bruce said hurriedly. He wanted nothing more than for Joker to leave him alone…even if he was going to camp out in the living room of the apartment, he could at least stay away from Bruce while he was on the job. _Grant me that, at least. Please._

“Oh, it’s no trouble.” Joker interrupted obliviously, although Bruce was fairly sure he was fully aware how much of an annoyance he was being. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and waved it in the air, skipping down the alleyway. “You’ve been a friend, Br—I mean, Matches, and I wouldn’t dream of _not_ returning the favor.”

“Yeah, okay. But you really…”

“And here we are!” Joker skidded to a stop, gesturing grandly at a cluster of decrepit buildings with cargo boats looming in the background on the bay. “Home sweet home. Well, not anymore.” Bruce felt a thin hand pat his shoulder. “Thanks to you, Matchy.”

“Don’t mention it.” he mumbled, trailing along behind Joker, who strode confidently along the dock toward the nearest building. A few workers were out, and cast curious glances at the pair, mostly at Joker. Bruce wished he’d convinced his companion to wear something at least _slightly_ less eye-catching (he had gone out that morning and arrived back at the apartment with a collection of clothes that looked like a 90s mood board on steroids. Bright purple pants, a blue shirt that looked uncomfortably like a crop top, neon green suspenders, and an equally green tie that hung loosely around his scrawny neck like a noose, all coupled with his dyed hair and scarily enthusiastic personality…Bruce felt like he was walking alongside a real circus clown, maybe one tripping on LSD or something.

“You know, I don’t think you’re really gonna help me fly under the radar.” he muttered, and Joker shrugged. 

“Like I said, I know these guys. You get on their good side, they won’t pay any attention to you.”

“No, I mean…” Bruce gestured vaguely. “The getup. All the colors. You’re not exactly blending in.”

Joker raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“Well, it’s not a very good way to go unnoticed.”

“ _I_ have no reason to go unnoticed, Bruce—”

“Matches.”

“Whatever.” He kicked a rock in Bruce’s direction. “And because I don’t see any good reason why _I_ should be in a disguise, I won’t.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. You’re telling me that this…costume…you’re wearing isn’t a disguise in its own right?”

Joker glared at him, for the first time not wearing his ear-to-ear smile. Bruce realized how much more human he looked when he wasn’t smiling…no longer like some weird neon goblin thing that had broken into his house and stolen his food. Take away the getup, and he wouldn’t look so different than anyone else. “It’s not. If I wanted one of those, I’d go to a costume shop, duh.”

“You’re telling me you didn’t get that from a costume shop?” Bruce snorted. Joker crossed his arms.

“I’m almost tempted to take that as an insult.”

“Maybe you should.”

He tossed his head back irately and ignored Bruce, pushing open one of the side doors to the closest warehouse and stepping inside. Bruce followed him, glancing around at the dark interior of the building. Watery light came from a bare lightbulb that hung from the ceiling, and a wooden table and chairs sat in the corner. A few men were crowded around it, playing cards. Joker bounded across the room, waving a hand. 

“If it ain’t the coolest guys this side of Gotham. What’s up, crackerjacks?”

One of the men looked up sharply, rolling his eyes when he saw Joker. “What’re you doing here?”

“Got a new guy for you.” He nodded over his shoulder at Bruce, who was still standing by the door. “He wants to help out.”

The second man stared at newcomers scrutinizingly, and Bruce shifted back and forth nervously. Would they notice who he was? If Joker could have figured it out so easily…

“You want to help us, huh?” The man stood up, the chair grating against the concrete floor. He tossed down his handful of cards and ran a hand through the beard that covered the bottom half of his face. “Who are you?”

“Matches Malone.” Joker answered before Bruce could speak. “He’s a small-time guy around here. Left town for a few years.” He lowered his voice, leaning in closer like he was telling a secret. “And he’s one of us, don’t worry.”

One of the men threw an empty beer can at Joker, who ducked. “Get lost, clown.” He motioned for Bruce to come closer. “You, c’mere.”

Bruce complied, keeping a wary eye out for any of the men to pull out a knife or a gun. After all, he was trespassing. The man looked him up and down slowly. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“Like I said, he…” Joker cut in, but the man interrupted him. 

“I told you to get lost.” He jerked a thumb toward the door. “As in, leave. You can wait for your friend outside.”

Joker kicked the empty beer can at the man, but obeyed. Bruce watched him leave and waited for the door to shut behind him before he spoke.

“Sorry about that. He wanted to come with me and I couldn’t get rid of him. I guess he knows you?”

The man with the beard shrugged. “He hangs around here sometimes. I guess he’s got a couple friends in the area, but he mostly just shows up to try and snag our wallets. He’s gonna get his face bashed in someday if he’s not careful.” He sounded bored, clearly not caring in the least. “Anyway, Matches. What brings you down here?”

“Thought I could get decent work in the area. I’ve been out of the city for a few years and wanted to find something under the radar, you know?” _Is this how criminals talk to each other?_ He should have done better research on this. 

Luckily, the men didn’t seem to sense anything out of the ordinary. “We’ve been looking for a few extra dock hands.” one of them spoke up, lighting a cigarette. “If that’s something you want.”

Bruce shrugged, trying to look like he didn’t really care. “Sure. Anything’s fine with me. Long as there’s decent wages.”

“Depends on how hard you work.”

“I can work hard enough.” 

The man nodded appreciatively. “Come in on Monday. We’ll get you started up.”

Bruce hesitated. _That’s it? Just show up? Is that how these jobs work?_ “Uh, okay. Anything else I need to do?”

The man waved him away dismissively. “Nope. Now get outta here and go find your clown friend.”

“He’s not…” Bruce started to protest, then sighed and turned away. There wasn’t any point in arguing about it. At least he’d gotten the job. That was what mattered. He pushed open the door and stepped outside, turning up the collar of his jacket as the wind blew colder around him. Joker wasn’t anywhere in sight, and for about two seconds Bruce considered looking for him, then realized he was being offered at least a few minutes to himself. It was the nicest thought that had come to mind in the past week. He rounded the corner of the warehouse, back toward the alley they had first entered the docks from, then stopped abruptly as he came upon a group of dock workers gathered in a tight circle, beating up a green-haired figure curled up on the ground. Bruce closed his eyes.

_Oh, great._

Part of him really wanted to keep walking, making sure to look away so Joker wouldn’t notice him. Maybe he could finally get away from the clown for good. And he probably deserved whatever he had coming to them…he was a self-admitted thief and an annoyance to everyone. 

But the part of Bruce that wouldn’t stop being Batman, even in civilian clothes and a hideous flattop, couldn’t reconcile himself with that. It wasn’t that he cared what happened to Joker either way…the pickpocket wasn’t his friend, and Bruce wasn’t his bodyguard. 

Still…

With a long-suffering sigh, Bruce shuffled over to the group, raising his voice to be heard over their own. “What’re you doing?”

One of the dock workers glanced over his shoulder at Bruce. “The little twerp stole my watch.” he growled, digging into his pocket and producing up a cheap silver watch with a scratched face. Bruce stepped closer.

“Looks like you have it back now. So what’s the big deal?”

“This ain't the first time he's stole from us.” The man shoved the watch back into his pocket angrily. "He can't take a hint, so we’ve gotta teach him a lesson.”

Bruce adjusted his collar. Joker glanced up at him from under two black eyes, licking blood off his lip. His face broke into a grin before someone else kicked him back down, but he kept watching Bruce from his spot on the ground. Another worker spoke up.

“Why do you care? You his friend or something?”

“Yeah, he—" Joker started before he was silenced with a blow to the face. Bruce gritted his teeth. 

“No. But I don’t see why you need to beat up on him if you got what you wanted. You have your watch back, so you should leave him alone.”

“He’s just gonna come back and steal from us again.”

“I’ll talk to him.” Bruce tried to sound reasonable. “I’ll take responsibility if he does it again.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Who are you, anyway?”

“I just got a job here. So I’ll be working with you.” Bruce stepped closer again, towering over the man, who was starting to look a bit intimidated. “I’d appreciate it if you let him go.”

The worker hesitated, clenching his hands into fists as if he was contemplating trying to fight Bruce, but after taking a second glance at him, he started to deflate and stepped back. “Let’s go.” he muttered to the other men behind him, and they trailed away, one or two casting baleful looks at Bruce over their shoulders. Bruce waited for them to disappear behind the warehouse, then turned back to Joker, who was struggling to his feet. He beamed at Bruce admiringly, stiffly dusting off his wrinkled shirt and inspecting a tear in the sleeve.

“Boy, you showed them. I always knew you’d come in handy around here.”

Bruce frowned at him, walking down the alley without waiting to see if Joker would follow him. “I’m not a strong-arm man for hire. Don’t expect me to come to your rescue every time.”

“Course I won’t.” Joker stumbled along behind Bruce, wiping blood of his face with the back of his sleeve. “I know how to take care of myself.”

“I can see that.” Bruce retorted drily. Joker fell in step alongside him, gingerly probing the bruise around his left eye. 

“I could’ve if they hadn’t ganged up on me. Guess I need to sneak a few more watches. My skills are getting rusty.”

Bruce shook his head. “Maybe if you spent your money on food and necessary things instead of those clown clothes you wouldn’t feel like you have to steal things.”

“Fashion before function, Brucie.” Joker replied sagely. Bruce sped up his pace, wanting the conversation to end there. Joker straggled along behind him. “Would it kill ya to slow down? It's still a little woozy up here.”

“You shouldn’t have let yourself get beat up, then.”

“Hey, what was I supposed to do? I got in a few bites before they all ganged up on me, but it was like a zillion against one.”

“Biting your enemies isn’t going to get you very far.” Bruce commented. Joker giggled, then winced.

“Ow. Well, look at you, the fighting expert. You probably can’t even throw a decent punch, billionaire babe.”

Every punch he had ever thrown as Batman crossed Bruce’s mind, and he narrowed his mouth into a thin line to avoid saying anything. “I wasn’t the one on the ground getting beaten to a pulp, so take what you will from that.”

“Like I _said,”_ Joker retorted, aggrieved, “If it was a _fair_ fight, then—"

“I really don’t feel like arguing the point.” Bruce interrupted, turning down the alley to the side door of the apartment building and starting up the dark flight of stairs as he searched in his pocket for the key. He heard Joker stumble on the steps behind him and rolled his eyes. “If you knock yourself out, I’m not coming back for you.”

“No fear of that, Bruce.” came the cheerful, if faint, response. 

“Matches.”

“Matcharena. Like the dance.”

“No.”

“Matchiavelli.”

“ _No.”_ Bruce gritted, turning the corner into the hallway and unlocking the apartment door. He motioned sharply for Joker to follow him. “You need to put ice on your eye.”

“I think it makes me look hot.”

“You’re wrong.” He pushed Joker through the door and shut it behind them. “I’m going to do some work. The ice is in the freezer.”

“I thought this disguise thing was your work.” Joker flopped down on the couch, flinging an arm over the back. 

“I have to check on any updates on shipments they’re sending in. So I can keep an eye out for them.”

“Oh, I already know what they’re planning.” Joker interrupted. “I was listening to the guy when I was sneakin’ his watch away. He said Tuesday night they’re expecting a new batch of _goods.”_ He lowered his voice and craned his neck toward Bruce. “And I’m no detective, but I can guess that means _criminal_ stuff.”

“You could have mentioned that before.” Bruce frowned. He wasn’t going to outright thank Joker, but that did give him a significant amount of headway on the smugglers’ plan. 

“Well, I would have, but you were busting through the alleys like a cat with its tail on fire, and I was just tryin’ to keep up. My head still feels like someone used it for bowling ball target practice.”

“I told you to ice it, and it’s not my fault if you don’t want to listen.”

“Why is everything _my_ fault?” Joker complained, unraveling a loose thread on the back of the couch. “Anyway, that’s what I heard them say. Then it was all just fists and threats and all that fun stuff.” He got up off the couch and limped into the kitchen, digging through the freezer for a bag of ice. “Oh hey, you’ve got ice cream in here.”

“Which, incidentally, is not for you.”

“Aw, Bruce Wayne likes mint chocolate chip? That’s adorable.” Joker stuck his head out of the freezer long enough to give Bruce a wide grin before diving back in. 

“I didn’t ask you for commentary.”

“Oh, by the way,” the green-haired man hefted a bag of ice in one hand and made his way back to the couch, pushing past Bruce in the process, “if you want to get a good look at the new shipment on Tuesday, you’ll want to be working near Dock 5. I know some guys who can help with that.”

“Yeah, last time you ‘knew some guys’ I had to scrape you off the sidewalk because you were stealing from them. I think I’ll do it myself.”

Joker rolled his eyes. “But I got you the job, right?” Bruce nodded begrudgingly. “Well, there ya go. I got you what I promised.”

“Uh huh.” Bruce opened up one of the kitchen cabinets, searching for something that could pass as dinner. It was already ten o’clock at night, and without Alfred reminding him to eat, it was much too easy to let meals slip by. 

“I’m gonna order pizza.” Joker loudly announced from the other room. Bruce raised an eyebrow.

“Good luck paying if you don’t have any money.” he called back. Joker scoffed.

“You really think I went through all that trouble with those guys to walk away empty-handed? Not me, I’ve got about fifty bucks tucked away thanks to our little scuffle.”

Bruce sighed, trying desperately to ignore the fact he was willingly (well, “willingly” might be stretching it) sharing the same apartment with a self-professed criminal. _At least he’s a fan of Batman. Can’t have done anything too horrible or I would’ve caught him by now._ “Fine, then go ahead.”

“Oh, I wasn’t asking you, Brucie, I was just letting you know.”

Bruce resisted the urge to punch through the kitchen counter. “Then order. I don’t need an announcement.”

He heard Joker pick up the phone and turned back to the kitchen cabinets, staring dismally at the cans he’d bought. World’s greatest detective, and he hadn’t thought to buy a can opener along with them. _Fantastic._ Well, he could always have the remainder of the sole cereal box that sat on the counter. Bruce shot a glare at it, as if it was responsible for his oversight. 

No, it was better to starve for the night.

He left the kitchen to see Joker flipping through television channels faster than the speed of light, and sat down on the single chair in the corner. “Are you even looking for a channel, or are you just trying to break the remote?”

Joker glanced up at him, then moved over on the couch and motioned for Bruce to sit next to him. Bruce shook his head and Joker shrugged. “I wanted to see what was on the news, but then I saw the cooking channel was on, and then there was a documentary on Batman that looked cool, but then I decided to go back and see what…”

“Okay, you know what? Never mind.” Bruce interrupted, and Joker’s face fell. He felt a twinge of regret at sounding so unpleasant all the time, but really, what was he supposed to do? Treat the intruder like a guest, or a friend? Nope. That wasn’t happening.

“Aren’t you gonna eat?”

_Since when did you turn into Alfred?_ “I’m not hungry tonight.”

Joker smirked. “Is it because you don’t have a can opener?”

Bruce’s head jerked up and he glared. “What?”

“C’mon, Brucie, you think I didn’t go through every single inch of that kitchen this morning while you were in bed? Gotta know my surroundings, y’know. And no billionaire who has servants running around for him would remember what he needs to buy when he’s doing all the work himself.”

Bruce ran a hand over his face. “Well, that, and I wasn’t hungry.” No way he was admitting to Joker that he had been right. 

“That’s okay, you can share with me.” 

Bruce scoffed. “That’s very generous of you.”

Completely missing the sarcasm in the other’s tone, Joker grinned. “Don’t mention it.” There was a knock on the door and he leapt up off the couch, wrenching it open. The delivery man on the other side held out a pizza box and struggled to catch the wad of money Joker threw at his face before slamming the door again. “As the Russians say, bon appetite.”

“It’s…” Bruce started, then shook his head. He wasn’t going to argue about this. Instead, he begrudgingly sat down on the farthest edge of the couch and held the pizza box as Joker went searching for paper plates. Leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling, Bruce sighed.

This whole situation would be memorable, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for any typos, there's probably a few in there. 
> 
> i'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments! :)


End file.
